A Last Remaining Hope
by Dagorloth
Summary: Teitho Contest Fic. And Gilraen knew that if by her life or death she would see that Aragorn lived then she would give it. For he was her son, and the last remaining hope of Man...
1. Onen i Estel Edain

**A LAST REMAINING HOPE  
By: **Rai  
**Rated: **PG

**Author's Note: **When I began this story, using the prompt "Mothers" for the May 2010 edition of the _Teitho! _Fanfiction Contest, I had no knowledge of the fan-made movie _Born of Hope_. In fact, my discovering of the movie, which chronicled the relationship of Gilraen and Arathorn, was in fact an act of happenstance in that it was found while double-checking the accents found within the Elvish. As it were, in tribute to the impressive quality of said movie, which I would highly recommend to any fan of _The Lord of the Rings_, I subsequently altered my own tale somewhat so that events that had passed in _Born of Hope_ are applicable within the canon of this story, though without explicitly referencing it.  
**Spoilers: **It reveals Aragorn, also known as Strider, for whom he truly is and will become as well as much of what goes on within the appendices. But otherwise, nothing of true consequence is spoiled within the books or otherwise.  
**Disclaimer: **I am not the owner nor creator nor the writer of Middle-earth or _The Lord of the Rings, _nor am I owners of any of the movies, nor coincidentally, do I claim any ownership with _Born of Hope_. I am not making any money out of this and am doing this for pure personal enjoyment. Any canonical and grammar errors are slips of my own.  
**Summary: **And Gilraen knew that if by her life or death she would see that Aragorn lived then she would give it. For he was her son, and the last remaining hope of Man.

* * *

**Part 1 – Onen i-Estel Edain**

"We cannot tarry here."

Gilraen raised her eyes, roused from her repose. Elladan, a son of Elrond, had emerged from the darkness of the still spring night into the camp. His poise concealed his haste, for he was an elf born with the grace of the Eldar so that his footsteps made no sound as they tread lightly upon the ground beneath his soft boots.

His brother Elrohir ceased his softly sung song to the stars above as he stood to behold his brother with an expression on his face that bellied his concern. It is not often that Elladan would express such urgency. But the evening had an ill-wind about it, and that was enough reason for Elladan to seek out the cause of the disturbance.

"Then they are close," said Elrohir grimly, and Gilraen saw that the light in his eyes were cold and hard. "I had hoped that we had gained a march upon our foes when we stole away in the night. But alas! We must have misjudged them."

"We have time yet before they overtake us, but it would be unwise to remain as we are," said Elladan as he began to collect what little that had been unpacked upon their arrival. His face was concealed by the deepening gloom of the late night. But the night was not deep enough to conceal the dull gleam of the sword he held in hand from Gilraen.

"Then I will ready the horses," said Elrohir. "And we should depart while we are still able. We are not far from the Fords of Bruinen. And the river will be able to provide us some protection. Hopefully they will not pursue this too much further so that nothing ill befalls us before we cross."

Elladan turned his eyes expectantly over to Gilraen as he walked. "I am sorry that this night will not be as restful as hoped, young lady," said Elladan gently, his eyes filled with a sympathetic light. "If I had been but more conscientious, there would have been little need for this perilous and difficult journey."

"I have told you many times, son of Elrond, that I hold to you and your brother no blame or fault for my husband's end," said Gilraen calmly. "All knew of the dangers when he went to drive the invading Orcs back into the mountains. That his end would befall him so early in his life is but the consequences of our struggle against the dark forces of this world."

"And yet, it does not lessen my sorrow to see one so young and fair as you widowed, that you should have to know the pains of this struggle so early in life," responded Elladan quietly, averting his gaze. "It pains me further knowing that your son is now in danger, due to the passing of the father he will now never know."

She looked upon the young child curled beneath the blankets next to her, his thumb tucked gently in his mouth as he slumbered. At two years of age, he slept peacefully; blissfully unaware of the dangers that now pursued him, a state which she envied. Sleep had all but abandoned her since the death of her husband a fortnight ago by way of an ill-fated Orc arrow. Now she knew only the terror and worries that fraught her existence.

It was for her son that she had fled under the watchful care of Elrond's sons. For it came to pass that the Enemy was seeking the last remaining heirs of Isildur in the North, so that he may destroy them. And there would be much peril to the boy if found; for there was now only one. Only Aragorn remained of that once noble line, diminished by time and hard struggle since the fall of the North-kingdom under Arvedui Last-king. And so she rode with the elves towards the haven of the Last Homely House in Imladris, a place that has long fostered Isildur's children, though not since Isildur's youngest son Valandil was born in Rivendell did it foster a child as young as her only son.

But there, she hoped, he would be safe.

Yet even with fair warning, it still seemed that they had left too late. The Wilds have proven to have become a dangerous place, beset by many dangers, as they journeyed south and east from her former home among the Dúnedain, the last remnant of the faithful. Several times already they had only barely avoided confrontation with the Enemy, and only the skill and ability of Elrond's sons made their safe passage possible to this point.

She placed a soft hand on his shoulders, shaking him gently as she cooed, "Aragorn, Aragorn, _ion-nin_. _Cuivo! _Awake!"

The little boy stirred, his grey eyes fluttering as he opened them slowly. "_Lau, naneth_," he muttered drowsily, shaking his head, little brown curls falling onto his face.

"I am sorry, little one, but we must go," she whispered softly as she lifted him to his feet. "We cannot stay, _ion-nin_, it is not safe for you here."

He yawned fitfully, but did not protest further. Instead he held up his arms to her. Smiling sadly, she embraced him, lifting him in her arms, humming softly into his ear as she followed Elladan to where they had settled their horses earlier in the night.

The only sound that could be heard was her gentle voice, for the air had grown still and silent, as if it were the first breath before a gathering storm. Elladan listened for awhile before he said, "It is a beautiful song that you sing, Gilraen."

Gilraen broke her song to look towards Elladan and said quietly, "It was my husband's favourite song, and so has become my son's." She looked towards the sky, her eyes shining as if recalling a distant, joyful memory, but they dimmed as she then said, "It is unusual for danger to tread so close to the Fords of Bruinen."

"It is, but these are darker times, my lady," said Elladan sadly. "I fear we may see greater dangers walk these paths still ere the end of this Age, though it is my heartfelt wish and hope that you or yours should not live to see it."

"A wise man once told me that it is not ours to decide what times we must live through," said Gilraen, gently caressing her son. "We can only decide what we can do with what time we are given."

Elladan blinked, and she thought she saw but a ghost of a smile on his face as he said: "Rarely will you hear wiser words. But come, Gilraen, for Elrohir is waiting and there is little time left to waste."

And so it happened that they would ride into the dark of night towards the Fords of Bruinen, her son drowsily slumbering in the saddle before her, held in place by one arm, so that the other held the horse's bridle. Only the light of the fading moon warned them of any impediment that would endanger their passage in the night. And so they moved with care, and they would frequently pause so to allow one of Elrond's sons to listen for sounds unaccounted. But the only sound that greeted them was silence.

The night deepened as the moon flew past its zenith, and the disquiet grew. She could barely see the silhouette of Elladan who rode before her, but saw enough to notice the tension in his back as his head swivelled about, looking into a night that refused to reveal its dark secrets.

And she worried.

"Sleepy," moaned little Aragorn grumpily as he began to squirm in his seat. "Sleep, _Naneth_."

"Hush, little one, we will rest soon," lied Gilraen urgently as she looked up at Elladan again, whose weapon had left its sheath.

"Now," he cried softly, still squirming.

"No, my son," she said more firmly, looking back at Elrohir who rode behind her. But he was too far away in the dark for her to be able to see the expression on his face.

"NOW!"

Aragorn's scream surprised her so that the hand that held her rein jerked back suddenly, causing the horse to rear dangerously. And then it seemed everything happened at once. Elladan cried out, galloping heedlessly into the bush on the left as Gilraen dropped the rein to grab her son and the saddle in front of her before either fell from their precarious perch upon their horse, the wind whistling sharply in her ear. Elrohir's horse screamed suddenly and inexplicably toppled, and he only barely managed to avoid becoming crushed by his own mount as he tumbled off of it. But such is the grace of the Eldar that barely had he fallen to the ground did he rise again, hand on her rein and weapon in hand as he stood protectively in front of them, scanning the landscape.

Little Aragorn sobbed pitifully in her arms, a miserable, grumpy little thing, though Gilraen expected little less from one as young as he. How could she expect him to understand the danger they were in, and the need for them to remain quiet? Hopelessly, she could only rock him gently, humming a soft song in his ear in the hopes of calming him enough so that he would cease his sad little cries.

As her son settled back into a restless daze, other sounds began to fill her ears, harsh and uninvited, distant though they were. And it chilled her blood, for it was the sound of steel upon steel, mixed in with the cruel, terrified cries of other, more sinister persons.

"They have found us," she said faintly, fear lacing her voice.

And then Elrohir spoke. "The path up the east bank along the Fords of Bruinen will be on your left," he said quietly but firmly. "Trust your horse, Narandir. He knows the way home. And he is a swift creature."

She turned to look upon him and speak as she understood what it was that he was asking her to do, but a look from him, even in the dark, told her that he wanted her to be silent. So she held her silence, allowing her fears to remain unspoken.

At length, he finally broke their silent tryst. "I cannot come with you," he said finally, "for though you were fortunate to have avoided the bolt that was aimed for your life, my horse was much less fortunate."

She froze in her saddle. _A bolt?_ thought Gilraen anxiously. _Surely not!_ But then her blood ran cold as she remembered the sound of a swift wind blowing in her ear, though there had been no wind to speak of for many an hour. Slowly, she turned her head to her right. In the trunk, a mere stone's throw from where she now stood, a viciously crafted crossbow arrow was buried deep into the trunk of a tree.

A lump of fear rose in her throat.

She felt warmed steel being pressed into the palm of her left hand by Elrohir. She looked down to see him bequeathing his sword to her. "Can you use this, daughter of the West?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to deny his gift, to refuse to accept the task that it represented, but instead she said: "I am of the Dúnedain, son of Elrond, and a daughter of the Wild. I have learnt to wield a sword, and know it well."

"Then I give unto you this sword so that you may protect yourself and yours from harm, though it is my hope that you will not need to," said Elrohir softly, releasing his blade that she now held aloft. She gazed awhile in wonder of the weapon, for it was light and well balanced. "I will have less need of this than you will in the near future." His eyes looked upon hers, cold and hard as midwinter's ice in the Misty Mountains. "It is not I that they seek or pursue."

She clutched her son to her breast a little tighter, her body tense as she swayed on her horse, heart pounding.

He patted her horse's nose gently. "_Tollen i lû, Narandir_," said Elrohir softly. "_Noro lim._"

She barely had time to grip the pommel of her saddle with her her hand, that same arm holding Aragorn close to her breast as the steed suddenly sprang forward into the night. Tears stung the corner of her eyes as she raced further away from Elrohir, and her last hope of protection.

She was alone now.

Only she remained between the safety of her son and the untimely end of the last remaining hope for Man.

**TBC**


	2. U chebin estel anim

**A LAST REMAINING HOPE  
By: **Rai

_Disclaimers, spoilers and rating found within the first chapter_

**Part 2 - U-chebin estel anim**

An arrow tickled her ear as it flew past her into the darkness of the thick pine forest that surrounded her. She ducked her head a little closer to the body of the horse she rode, though it made Aragorn squirm beneath her firm hold even more so next to her. His unruly cries echoed into the night, but Gilraen had long since given up silencing him. The time for stealth had long passed. They pursued her now, as if the very whips of their masters were driving them. And she could only shout encouragements to Narandir to hasten towards the Fords of Bruinen, for she knew that hers and her son's only chance for survival this night was to find the east bank of the Fords before it is too late.

Fear rankled Gilraen as another arrow flew overhead, missing her steed by a hairsbreadth. She shut her eyes, silently screaming with her young child as they raced into the night. Listening to his unhappy howls over the rough treatment the wild gallop was inflicting upon him weighed heavily on her, but not as much as the weariness of a long journey and an even longer night. She could feel her spirits begin to fade as hope seemed to abandon her, for she felt as if she raced onward into an eternal night that knew no end.

A dark hand suddenly came at her from the shadows to grasp at her from the right side. She screamed in shock as she leaned away from its loathsome grip, her heart racing, forgetting the sword she still gripped in her hand. Narandir veered to the left as if he felt her fear and the night engulfed the hand that had only a moment ago been reaching towards her.

She could hear angry shouts all about her as they drew closer, but they still were unable to match Narandir, for he was as agile and graceful as those that had raised him, a tribute to the fair hand of the elves. Many times that evening they would come close to capturing her, only for the steed to evade their grasps.

Suddenly Narandir broke cover from the foliage of the thick woods onto a sharp incline that revealed a long flat mile, and a sob escaped Gilraen's throat as the sound of running water reached her ears over the cacophony of pursuit. At last, the Fords of Rivendell were near.

She quickly looked behind her and her blood froze. Loathsome Orcs there all were, and there were twenty of them at least, cloaked in darkness, pursuing her. She could see the dull gleam of metal in their hands as they chased her relentlessly across the open space.

But though her danger was apparent, the sounds of the river Bruinen filled her mind and filled her heart with a new sense of hope and determination. Her back straightened as she began to lead Narandir down an uneven path, avoiding the arrows that attempted to rain down upon them all. Even Aragorn's sobs lessened considerably as he leaned into her, trembling slightly as they sped as if on wings.

There was a splash of water as they drove into the Bruinen, and she could feel fear beginning to creep into her heart again as she realized that the river was high due to the springtime floods from the Misty Mountains. Her horse was slowed and she could hear as her pursuers neared. But even as the cold river water foamed about her feet and soaked her chill to the bone in the process, she managed to avoid a fey arrow from the Enemy as she drew further away from the west bank to the east. In short time, Narandir had safely left the river.

The horse heaved, its mouth foaming and Gilraen could tell that to push him further would be the death of so noble and fine an animal. _There would be no more running tonight_, she thought sadly. _It is here then where I must make my stand_.

She looked to the east bank to see her pursuers pace the banks almost nervously, unsure of what to do for she was too far for them to launch arrows at. Suddenly, anger filled her, a fire that burned deep and tempestuous. Dropping the bridle in her one hand, she carefully dismounted with her son in the arm that also held the sword that Elrohir had given her earlier in the night.

She then held the blade aloft with her free hand and with the courage of her forefathers filling her being, she cried, "Go back! Let not your foul feet darken these fair waters! Go back from whence you came and pursue me no further!"

Their laughter was foul and harsh and cruel as their smiles. "Pretty lady!" they cried. "It is not you whom we pursue into the night but the boy that you hold to your breast. Bring him to us and we will leave you in peace."

She felt her son grip her damp collar suddenly. "_Naneth_?" he said softly, and she knew without looking upon him that his big grey eyes were welling with fear.

She had to fight back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Tears for her husband and tears for her son. But anger also kindled within her, and gave her strength. It was anger for the sorrow and fear they have caused her, and for others before. It was anger for the sword she now had to wield to protect those she loved.

A great fire burned within her as she declared, "By my forefathers and Elendil the Great, you will have neither him nor I." She clutched her son closer to her, as she held the sword aloft with her free arm. "He is not yours to take. Go back!"

She heard a snarl that sent a shiver through her spin as they cried angrily, "Give us the boy, woman! Or you will discover a fate worse than death."

"If you want him, come and claim him!"

And she saw that they stepped back upon feeling the heat of her words, as if unsure to answer her challenge. Her eyes blazed as she placed her son onto the hard earth of the east bank before standing before him, both hands on the sword, waiting.

In her heart she knew her odds alone against twenty were unfavourable, but if by her life or death she could see that Aragorn would live then she will give it, for he was her son, and the one true heir of Man.

He was Man's last remaining hope.

The soft splashes on the west bank told her that they were crossing to greet her. She closed her eyes as she heard the sound of five bowstrings being pulled as they readied themselves to fell at her as soon as they got in range. She felt surprisingly calm, as if she had made peace with her death. _I am sorry, Arathorn, my love_, she thought sadly.

A soft whistle was heard from above, unnatural and yet beautiful. The sound of an equally unnatural wind filled the air and she opened her eyes to the sounds of screams and many of her pursuers falling like rocks into the water that churned below them. The rest were in chaos as they tried to turn back, but another soft whistle accompanied by yet another swift wind sent the rest into the river, never to rise again.

And then there were none.

For a moment she stood motionless, both hands still gripping the sword before her, water still dripping from her damp clothing. She could only hear her harsh and heavy gasps of air, as much as the furious beating of her racing heart as she stood there, tense and unsure of what had just come to pass before her.

"_Na vedui Dúnadan!_" She turned her eyes to look towards the fair voice that had spoken to her and saw a company of elves. They approached her now most cautiously as they descended the eastern banks of the Bruinen, eyeing the blade that she held aloft still. And she saw that they held aloft bows both tall and supple.

"_Iston le?_ Who are you?" she asked cautiously.

One among the company, fair of face and dark of eyes, smiled reassuringly at her as he bowed his head. "I am Hemeldir, son of Aeglas. You may not know me, but I know you, Gilraen, daughter of Dírhael, descendant of Aranarth," he said calmly. "_Mae govannen_. It is fortunate that we have crossed paths this night." He eyed her weapon calmly once more, before he then said, "If you do not mind me asking, my lady, but how is it that you came about wielding the sword of a son of Elrond?"

She stared at him and said, "It is a most long and difficult story, my lord Hemeldir, one best told from within the Last Homely House than on the banks of the river Bruinen. But you may know that it was bestowed to me in good faith and with the hope that I would not need use it for the purpose it was crafted."

Then, it was as if a great burden had lifted itself from within her heart for she now realized that she was now safe. But as it did, all energy escaped as the full weight of her trials this night finally took its toll upon her body. The sword clanged sharply as it fell from her grasp. And if not for the swift hands of the elves, she would have fallen upon the hard surface of the banks on which she had only moments ago stood so firmly.

"Peace, my lady," said Hemeldir softly as he held her aloft. He looked upon her once more, and she noticed that his expression hardened into one of much anger and sorrow. "I am only sorry we did not come to you sooner. Great was your hardships this night, but you may now rest, for you and your son are in safe hands."

"_Le hannon, Hemeldir_," she murmured softly as she swayed on her feet. He smiled, and it seemed he spoke to her softly in the Elvish tongue, but so wearied was her soul that she could no longer comprehend what had been spoken to her. Suddenly she felt light, as if someone had gently lifted her into an embrace. And then darkness took her.

* * *

"_Naneth?_"

She knew that voice. But she had never heard it speak to her so gently, or so fearfully.

She was in bed, she realized, as she opened her eyes. But little else could she discern as all she saw was a pair of big, frightened grey eyes staring back at her.

"_Naneth?_" those eyes asked urgently.

Gilraen smiled. "_Suilaid, Aragorn_," said Gilraen to him in an equally soft tone, raising her hand to caress his soft brown locks. But when she saw that the fear in his eyes had not escaped him, her smile faded as she asked, "My son, what troubles you? You look so sad."

And he burst into tears.

She quickly took him up in her arms and began to rock him gently as he sobbed pitifully while grasping the collar of the shift she now wore firmly. He was babbling, but though Gilraen tried to understand the meaning of his words between his tears, she could not. She did only that in which she felt she should, and she began to hum his favourite song. Before long his sobs faded into soft whimpers and then she felt him become limp in her embrace as he fell into a deep slumber.

"It is a beautiful song that you sing, Gilraen," said someone softly next to her.

She turned her head to behold the Lord Elrond Halfelven of Rivendell standing above her, his soft robes shimmering in the early morning sun that filtered gracefully through the open window. She bowed her head respectfully, though she still held her son in her arms. "It was my husband's favourite song, and so it has become my son's," she answered quietly.

Elrond smiled softly. "The Lay of Lúthien Tinúviel. A song of love above any other." He sighed. "Long has it been since I've heard it sung so, though it is sung often enough within the Hall of Fire."

She caressed Aragorn's cheek softly. "I find that it soothes him when he is troubled, such as he was only a moment ago." She looked upon her son with sorrowful eyes. "Though I do not know why he distressed himself so."

Elrond's eyes furrowed in sadness as he explained, "He feared he lost a mother, Gilraen, much as he lost his father." He did not look upon her eyes which now held a measure of shock as he moved towards her window in a slow, solemn walk. "If it were my choice, you would have slept for some time longer, though you've rested for little over a day already. But your exhaustion was no less from your long night than from the many troubles and burdens that have come before it." The elf sighed once more. "I could not but for your son. He did not understand. To him it seemed that some great ill had befallen you and have taken you away from him in that early morning on the Fords of Bruinen. He would not leave you."

Gilraen looked down upon her slumbering son. "Oh Aragorn," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

She felt the warm, comforting hand of the Lord Elrond's on her shoulder, knowing in her heart that a smile crept upon his face as he sat on the edge of her bed. In a few hours, the sons of Elrond, battered and bruised but no worse for their own tribulations from that evening would visit upon Gilraen and her son. And in time, she would laugh again. For from within Imladris, all was renewed and whole and safe.

But though she played and laughed and smiled, there was a dimness in her eyes and within her heart that did not fade or lessen. For she had indeed lived through much sorrow and grief, and the loss of her husband for whom she had loved with all her heart above all else grieved her the most. With his death, it was as if a light had gone out in her life, and but for her son, there was little else but emptiness.

Some time later, on a cool and beautiful summer night, she and Elrond would find solitude in each other's company. And on that evening he spoke to her in private.

"I am glad you understand why it is wise for us to have given him a new name. His name must be forgotten, lest the Enemy learn he lives still." The Lord Elrond furrowed his eyebrows, as if deeply troubled as he then added, "It must have been difficult for you, for we are asking you to agree to hiding the lineage that you and your people have risked their lives to see live on."

Gilraen grimaced. "I know the Dark Lord seeks him," she said flatly. "And I have learnt that there is little wisdom in refusing the counsel of the Wise on matters concerning the Enemy. If he is safer by any other namesake, then it would be in our best interests to forget his true birthright."

Elrond did not look towards her, for he knew the great sorrow that this decision left upon Gilraen, for there was great pride in his lineage and of his birthright and to deny Aragorn the knowledge was as if she was betraying not just her people, but Arathorn, her husband, above all else, for he had died in order to carry that honour. So he said, "I promise you, Gilraen. Once he is of an age where he can appreciate and perhaps truly understand the burdens of which he has been born into, he will know his true name."

She gave no answer, only folded her arms disconcertingly as she gave Elrond a sidelong glance. Suddenly, a touch of humour was on her lips as she said, "But to name him Estel? I would have thought you would have been more discrete then to name him Hope."

"The Enemy knows not its meaning, nor would they seek to learn it so there is no danger in naming him thus," said Elrond idly. "And I thought that it was appropriate, given the circumstances."

Gilraen laughed, but to Elrond's ears he heard that there was a mirthless ring to it as she said, "So you would like to remind me, my Lord Elrond. After all, _onen i-Estel Edain_." She sighed as she shook her head. "_Onen i-Estel Edain_," she repeated again quietly, and to Elrond it sounded almost sorrowful.

He turned to look upon Gilraen and saw that her back was tense and her eyes were hard as she looked but did not see the land that laid itself out before her. He frowned. "Gilraen," he started softly but stopped as she turned suddenly and began walking away, tall and proud as her people had ever been.

But he had seen darkness in her eyes and a sorrow deep in her soul. And the Lord Elrond wondered if she had kept any hope for herself.

**THE END**


End file.
